


Who is the biggest cock-up machine?

by two_dead_parrots



Category: The Thick of It (TV), Yes Minister, Yes Prime Minister
Genre: Crossover, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_dead_parrots/pseuds/two_dead_parrots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a quick window to a cock-up-full day in the ministry that now has two cock-up machines - the Ministry for Administrative Affairs and the Department for Social Affairs and Citizenshit, sorry Citizenship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- rated M for the language.  
> \- not porn, sorry, I just had sudden urge to explore what would happen if some of my favourite characters met, really enjoyed writing in their voices and then thought 'why not post it?' so there. I even might end up writing more.
> 
> \- and lest I forget, written by one dead parrot only, the second one found pining for the fjords more appealing...

'Oh, for fuck's sake! Jesus, how come the stupid fucker survives the day without being killed by a fucking pot plant? Well, he's gonna get one down his fucking throat and shit leaves for the next fucking month.' Malcolm turned to Jamie: 'Am off, AA seems to be even bigger fucking cock-up machine than DoSAC.'  
'Destroy the fuckers. I'll cover it here for ya.'  
Malcolm's phone rang again.  
'What? … Fuck. Yes.' he turned to Jamie: 'Go, please, and feed Reeder with his fucking bollocks.'  
Jamie's face lit up.  
'Pleasure.'

 

The Rt. Honourable James Hacker MP bore expression somewhere between being mortified and sick. For a moment he considered crawling under the table and hoping to disintegrate, but in the end decided against it. Firstly, he didn't want to look completely ridiculous in front of Bernard and the other reason, well, he supposed it would be easier for Malcom Tucker to kill him if he was tucked in a small place with nowhere to run. His brain told him it was extremely unlikely the director of communications is going to commit murder in a building full of people, but rationale didn't help much. By the look on Bernard's face this is going to be volume 11 bollocking.

'Bernard, what are we going to do?'  
'Minister, I suggest you wait for the right moment to release the news to the press.'  
'When is the right moment? Never?'  
'No. Not necessarily, at least. Just wait for something bigger to appear so your news will go unnoticed.'  
'Yes, what about third world war? Even better – giant meteorite bound to hit the earth.'  
'I really do think it extremely unlikely for both to appear at the same time. Generally, no one would bother with war under such...'  
'Bernard, do please shut up.'  
'Sorry, minister.'

 

'What the fuck were you thinking? Is your wee brain unable to both remind you to breathe and fucking think occasionally? Before I met you I thought no one more fucking retarded than Cliff Lawton can get into this fucking job. My. Fucking. Mistake. You should have fucking consulted me before doing anything this colossally stupid. I would naturally tell you to drop this fucking idea into the depthts off your own fucking arse to join the other shit coming from you, you cunt.'

Bernard was slightly tempted to squeeze in the fact that if the idea went up Ministers backside and then were excluded, it would by definition resurface, which was precisely the thing Malcolm didn't want it to do; but after last time when he was graphically explained that Malcolm is willing to 'give it a fucking go, starting with you, you Oxbridge smug cunt' in relation to the notion of strangling someone with his own intestines - because, as Bernard pointed out, it was highly likely that the person in question would have died from massive bleeding sooner than Malcolm would have the chance to strangle them.

Just as Malcolm was breathing in to continue, because he was just getting fucking started, soft cough came from the door Malcolm left open when he stormed in.

'Minister, I am awfully sorry to interrupt but a matter arose which requires your immediate attention..'  
'Yes, his fucking arse going for a ride on my special cactus I keep for equally special occasions of a colossal cock-up.'  
'If I could suggest we first avert this unfortunate policy idea which got into wrong hands, undoubtedly in good faith and in no way the person in question was trying to circumvent official procedures.'  
Sir Humphrey could not help it, but even though PM's Director of Communications definitely wasn't one to belong in the delicate operational circles of government's practical workings - he most definitely didn't go to neither of two English pillars of education and tradition (Humphrey sometimes wondered whether he went to any other of the so-called universities); he could get his job done and despite the mess he created in his footsteps – mostly dust and unidentifiable blob of ministers, he was clever and someone to better have on your side, than against you. Someone else would even say Humphrey had a soft spot for Malcolm, notion Humphrey would never grace with a straight answer, not even if it were posed as a straight question.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> same as before, still no porn, still sorry. though Malcolm and Jamie are obviously together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep, I decided to have more fun and hence behold more of this. (whatever this is...)

As another week was ending and the offices of Number 10 lay empty, Malcolm and Jamie enjoyed rare moment of peace and were just chatting. The topic of choice was if they are going to pub and get shitfaced (Jamie's idea) or go home and have some sleep (that was Malcolm) with open invitation for Jamie to stay over (as he usually did).

They were disturbed by a knock on the door.  
'Who for fuck's sake..?' Malcolm muttered under his breath.  
'Aye, come in!' Jamie shouted, not bothering to get his feet off Malcolm's table when Bernard Wooley came in.  
'Good evening. I'm sorry to bother you at this time, but Sir Humphrey had asked me to have a confidential word with you Malcolm.' Bernard looked at Jamie as if he didn't know what to do – his experience told him not to confront the smaller Scotsman.

…  
'I'll cut your nose off and ram it down your throat so you can smell the shit coming from you! Just fucking how can you think you are competent enough to tell me what to fucking do. If you didn't notice I am in a middle of fucking work thanks to your fucking minister, I'll get you a new pair of fucking eyes off some of the other cunts working here.'  
…

'Take a chair and tell us.' Jamie grinned at Bernard. 

'Our minister has an idea that he thinks will be popular with the voters and therefore is quite excited about it, but Sir Humphrey thinks...'  
Jamie cut in: 'And how did he find out?'  
'I would never breach the trust minister has in me by enclosing information acquired in confidentiality as his Private Secretary.' Bernard tried to protest, but Jamie just grinned at Malcolm.  
'Anyway, as I was saying, Sir Humphrey is less keen on the idea as its implementation would pose certain complications and therefore he would like you, ahem, explain to the minister why the idea cannot and hopefully will not work. The scheme is in this folder,' he gestured towards the folder in his lap, 'that is if you are willing to join forces with us.'

Malcolm glanced at Jamie who seemed to be in dangerously uplifted mood and sighed, 'Show us the folder and tell Sir Humphrey he should make some time Monday early morning, for a further discussion, the early is crucial because I suppose I will be busy fire-fighting yet another fuck-up.'

…

'Good morning, Malcolm. Bernard told me you wanted to meet and discuss some details of the little scheme.'  
'Good morning, Humphrey.' Jamie wasn't going to be treated as a fucking piece of furniture, fuck you very much dear inbred fucking sir.  
'Yeah, basically, there really is no problem in explaining why that cunting idea won't work, because, frankly it is a fucking stupid idea in the first place, but...'  
'But you would like to see some quid pro quo, I assume.' Humphrey wasn't too pleased about Malcolm's use of language but was neither intimidated nor absolute beginner. 'What can I offer you?'  
'You could stop your fucking minister from increasing my work-load, for starters...'  
'Seems impossible, aye?'  
'Yeah, it does, he wouldn't be here if he could manage him.'  
'I think that both of you ealise I can only advise the minister, offer him counsel, not take decisions for him, or erase the decisions he has taken.'

Humphrey wasn't feeling entirely comfortable and made a mental note of taking Bernard with him the next time he's going to meet the Scottish fire-fighting machine. He wasn't too pleased about the next times, but knew it was highly likely, and also he knew that PR managers occasionally need help from capable and high ranking civil servants, such as himself.

Malcolm was enjoying himself and looked long at Sir Humphrey before saying that they would see the minister changed his fucking mind pretty sharpish - before he has had a chance to do anything utterly stupid, which, as Jamie pointed out is in his case to do 'fucking anything, I bet he can't even shit properly.'

When doors closed behind Sir Humphrey, Jamie stood up and went closer to Malcolm, 'What a posh useless fucking cunt, aye?' Not waiting for a reply he continued in a parody posh accent, ''What can I offer you?' Drown yourself in that fucking cesspit of wank you call fucking ministerial department and don't come offering your arse outstretched on our table.'  
'You ain't jealous.'  
'Fuck you, old cunt. I bet he would enjoy it. All these posh fuckers like working class lads.'  
'You little fucker...' more of a statement and term of endearment than anything else.  
'Ya forget not all working class lads like posh cunts. Though I am glad you will finally stop saying I'm fucking middle-class.'  
'Ya are extremely middle-class, cunt, you even fuck a poor fucking working class lad.'  
'Poor fucker, you, really.'

Small Monday morning office blow-job never hurt anyone, now did it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more of the same. no porn. some swearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone's tired. probably because I am tired. but anyway, there you go, hope you'll like it.

'You are going to do it, or I will remove your fucking prostate and you will be going around with a piss-bag around your half-dead neck! Is it clear? Toe the fucking line and don't even think about anything else you half-fucking-wit. Is it clear?'

'I think you've made yourself clear, Jamie.'

'Have you forgotten the iPod, Reeder? Don't be fucking smug around me, twat.'

 

 

'Humphrey, I need you to do something for me.'

Sir Humphrey smiled almost contently, if unconsciously, as he heard the Scottish accent on the other side of his phone.

'Yes, Malcolm, what do you have in mind?'

'I need you to use your _allegedly_ great persuading powers to explain to your minister why is it a fucking horrible idea for him not to support the Home Secretary in his colossal cock-up and try to support some coup. All the damage of course would be limited, apart from that I will inflict on that fucker if he doesn't do what he's fucking told to.'

Well, Humphrey wasn't to pleased about the word allegedly and even less on the accent Malcolm put on it, but, in any case, he was sure his own powers of influence, _not_ persuasion – that is something completely unworthy of member of the great Civil Service, were absolutely incomparable with anyone working in Her Majesty's Government.

'Malcolm, as you are no doubt aware, I can only advise the minister, but I will advise him in a way that is the best for all adjacent parties.'

'What that a fucking yes?'

Sir Humphrey was now smiling broadly and contemplating his answer to something that wasn't to his liking – a straight question. Well, and of course, it was always fun to slightly wind up the senior Press officer, but there were lines Humphrey knew wouldn't be wise to cross, not in a omnishambles situation like this, anyway..

'If you insist, Malcolm... Yes.'

 

Had Jim Hacker been around, he would have fallen off his chair in surprise – Sir Humphrey being asked an yes or no question and answering it, well, not with just yes or no, but at least without _both_ yes and no. On the other hand, though Malcolm realised Humphrey made little more obstructions than usually, he couldn't fully appreciate the unique and, frankly priceless, moment.

 

'I'll come over after 4 hoping your minister won't put up any resistance and agree really fucking sharpish with what he'll be told.'

Pause. But not long enough for Humphrey to reply.

'Thank you, Humphrey.'

 

Malcolm sighed put his Blackberry on the table and covered his eyes with his hand for few brief seconds. After press found out about the immigration cock-up, he's spent last 2 days without anything resembling proper sleep, running around (literally, occasionally), swearing, threatening and persuading people to fucking stand behind the idiot of a Home Secretary. And explaining to the fucking press that everyone's just fucking human and makes cock-ups. Occasionally this included some kicking in bollocks (metaphorical one, for hack-cunts interested). And he was fucking tired. But successful – he's punched every coup attempt into fucking coma and after tomorrow, things will get only better.

 

'Jamieee!'

Shouting technique usually worked if Jamie was close enough to hear it and if he wasn't, he'd be somewhere doing unpleasant things to idiots and busy.

'Ay, Malc?'

Jamie came to him and Malcolm just hugged him and rested his face in those curls. Jamie patted his back and looked up to kiss him gently.

'Aw, c'mmon, Malc, have a satsuma, have a therapeutic shout at Reeder... Or I can have a shout at him and you'd watch.'

 

 

Jamie followed Malcolm for a visit to Department of Administrative Affairs as added threat factor (and moral support, not that any of them would admit it to the fuckers).

'I've heard you were thinking of drawing your own fucking line instead of following the official one. I can't say that is a wise fucking idea, 'cos the only not official line will be drawn in your. Own. Fucking. Blood.'

The last four words made Jim Hacker nervous and the volume of it almost deaf.

'And the second line will be out of your fucking intestines, aye?'

Second Scottish voice interjected.

'No, Malcolm... Jamie, I am fully supporting the Home Secretary.'

The Minister looked at Humphrey out of corner of his eye.

'Just as well.'

 

Out of the door Malcolm looked at Humphrey and nodded in thanks. The Civil Servant looked exceptionally satisfied, you could even say something about cats and cream.

 

'Humphrey, can you prepare me a statement?'

'Yes, Minister.'

 

 


End file.
